There was a man once, I don't recall his name, frequented the billiard parlors downtown. He made a comfortable living wagering whether he could swallow certain objects, billiard balls being a specialty. He'd pick a ball, take it down his gullet, to here, and regurgitate it back up. One evening, I decided to challenge this man to a wager. Ten thousand in cash for him to do the trick with a billiard ball of my choosing. Now he knew I'd seen him do this a dozen times so I can only surmise that he thought I was stupid. We laid down the cash and I handed him the cue ball. He swallowed it down, it lodged in his throat, and he choked to death on the spot. What I knew and he didn't was that the cue ball is one sixteenth of an inch larger than the other balls, just too large to swallow. Do you know what the moral of this tale is, Mr. Yale?
Don't eat a cue ball?
The moral of the story is: If I'd cause a stranger to choke to death for my own amusement, what do you think I'll do to you if you don't tell me who ordered you to kill Collisimo?
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